In Times of Desperation
by Nadamalki
Summary: Dean had lost everything the night he lost Sam by the hands of Jake, but when he finds out about the ability to time travel, he does the unthinkable and goes back to that dreadful night to save his little brother, not knowing that with such an alternation, he had unleashed a ripple effect that will damage his being and turn things to the worse. Takes place by the end of Season 2.
1. Chapter 1

_"I've seen all kinds of demons and I've killed so many of them, but Time,_

_Time was the cruelest one of them all."_

**-Dean Winchester**

* * *

**_Ripple Effect _**[**rip**-_uh_l ih-**fekt**]**_  
_**_n._  
_It is the gradual changing of the present or future timeline after the changing of past events. Items brought from the present and future transformed to become consistent with the alteration of the timeline are changed due to the ripple effect. (Oxford)_

* * *

_He walked down a muddy road with one thought in his mind, one destination, one intention, to find his little brother, the one spark of light that gave meaning to his dark and grim life. With his heart hammering loudly against his chest, he held a flashlight in his left hand, and a shot gun in his right. "Come on Sammy come on Sammy", he whispered to himself. He was about to lose it, Sam's been too far out of his sight! He'll be dammed if something happened to him, he couldn't let it, he wouldn't allow it._

_He let his legs guide him as his head moved frantically from left to right, searching for any sign of his sibling, eyes wide open like saucers to see through the dark woods, hands gripped and released the gun prepared to face any threat. _

_He cursed to himself as the endless woods carried no sign of his brother. Just when he was about to search a different path, he heard it…_

_"Dean!"_

_He released a breathe he didn't know he was holding as Sam's voice's registered in his mind._

_"Sam!" Dean yelled with a voice filled with sheer relief as he began to run faster towards his brother's form. Bobby ran equally fast beside him. He's okay, God he's okay._

_Just as he was about to reach him, something snapped out of place. Sure thing, he found Sam, and he didn't seem harmed, but something didn't feel right. The hairs behind his neck rose, as if sensing the false relief that overtook him._

_Right on cue, he spotted a shadow behind his brother's figure. _

_Sam, completely defenseless, blinded by the comfort of seeing his brother, didn't notice the danger until he saw the alarm reflected on his brother's face. _

_"Sam, Look out!" Dean sensed the inevitable before the knife tore into Sam, as if he knew what was coming, heart racing, as the knowledge that he would be too late filled his mind. _

_He let out a "NO!" as he watched Jake sliding the bloody knife into Sam's defenseless back. He stormed towards his brother's falling body, No no no no!_

"NOOO!"

The words came out choked from Dean as he jolted from his bed, panting and covered in a cold sweat, tears ran down unnoticed. He covered his face with his trembling hands and tried to calm himself down as Sam's voice still echoed in his groggy mind. "God…" he whispers to himself.

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Bobby in the kitchen, heard Dean's scream from the other room for the hundredth time. Dean had been having this nightmare almost every night ever since Sam's death 2 months ago. Just when hew was about to believe that Dean was starting to come out of it, Dean fell further down the rabbit hole and relapsed onto another fit of nightmares at night, leaving him looking like a terrified lost boy by morning.

_"How much can you take boy?"_ Bobby said to himself as he sorrowfully prepared breakfast.

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After steady long breaths, Dean finally mustered the strength to drag himself out of bed. He walked on heavy feet towards the bathroom as if on autopilot. He rested his hands on the sink and didn't even bother to look in the mirror, to him, his face was not worth the slightest attention. He turned on the faucet and folded both hands like a bucket under the running water and rinsed his face with the gathered liquid, the coldness snapped him further into reality and away from the dark woods. He looked down the sink, noticed the veins of water which droplets traced before disappearing down the drain.

_I should disappear… _

"Dean? You okay in there?" Bobby knocked from the other side of the door.

Dean is shocked out of his pity party with the droplets of water. "Mm fine" he snapped, regretting how harsh he answered the old man, he shouldn't be mad at him. _It was my job, my brother, my responsibility, and my damn failure _he hammered to himself.

"Alright well your breakfast's running cold, thought you might wanna eat something for a change".

"No thanks Bobby I'll pass." No point of eating anything when he lost the sense of taste anyway, when he didn't feel like he deserved it.

He noticed that Bobby's still at the door and lets out a grunt.

"I'll be out in a minute" he added, anything to get Bobby off his back.

Dean's shoulders relaxed as he heard Bobby's steps leaving the room. He lifted his right hand from the sink and rubbed his face once more while closing his eyes, his breath caught in his throat as he suddenly saw Sam's dying body; almost faltered as he sensed the wetness of his brother's blood in his hands. His eyes shot open and looked straight down at his palms, panicked and shaken, he roughly rinsed each finger to get rid of the dreadful feeling, he could've sworn the waters turned red.

Once done, he swallowed hard as he brought the back of his soaking pruned hands up to press them against his sockets, trying inevitably to push it all away, just for now at least,_ get a grip _Dean snapped to himself. He to took a few calming breaths and prepared to leave his sanctuary. Bobby would have come back for him if he didn't get out in ten seconds tops. Ignoring the mirror still, he focused on moving his right foot, then left foot and slowly dragged himself out of the bathroom like a dead man walking.

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Bobby straightened his back once he saw Dean walk into the living room. His heart ached as he noticed how the hunter looked worse and worse each day.

Gone were the green observant eyes that were once filled with life, only to be replaced by a dull grey color that lost all sense of devotion. Dark circles literally heavy as if pulling down on his lids, making him look as if drugged. His body, once filled with muscle like that of a statue, now became nothing but glued flesh on bone. His skin was as pale as the white shirt he was wearing which hung loosely on his weary frame. What hurt the old man the most were his slow unsteady steps, it seemed like his feet were dragging some heavy chains that were tide to that spot where he last held Sam's dying body.

"Take a picture, it lasts longer." Dean said with annoyance.

Bobby broke out the observation session, cursing himself for making the boy feel uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and spoke softly, "Dean, I know I've said this many times, but you need to eat something today, when was the last decent meal you had?"

Dean doesn't bother to answer. He walked straight to the cabinet and gripped his favorite treat, a bottle of Jack, ignoring Bobby's sighs of frustration as he took a big gulp of the drink, and relished the burn that left his throat.

_I should burn…_

He chuckles to himself, _I would've if they had let me!_

With no preparations, his mind was taken back to that dreadful night, when he gathered Sam's cold body to a cabin nearby, laid him on an abandoned bed and spoke out words of remorse like Sam could still hear him.

_"I always tried to protect you. Keep you safe. Dad didn't even have to tell me. It was just always my responsibility, you know? It's like I had one job. I had one job, and I screwed it up. I blew it, and for that, I'm sorry"._

"Sorry my ass" he whispered to himself, mocking his dialogue while shaking his head from side to side. He took another gulp, winced from the memory more than from the drink's bitter taste.

_"What am I supposed to do? Sammy? What am I supposed to do?"_

That's the thing dammit! He knew what he was supposed to do!

_He drove to the nearest crossroads, followed the instructions of how to summon a demon with no hesitation. He was going to trade his life for Sam's. The demon did indeed show up, it looked into Dean's eyes and saw through his soul, sensed the grief, sniffed the sorrow oozing out of him, felt the heartache pumping and overflowing his veins. _

_"No." It simply said with a sickening smirk._

_"No? What do you mean "No"? You'll have me for lunch instead! Come on I know how many of you sons of bitches want me rotting down there with you"._

_The demon smirk grew, "It would be a nice offer honey, but come to think of it, boy we like this version of hell you're going through way better, we know you too well Deanie boy. We can sense the guilt burning you alive like a hot poker already" it said as it swayed and walked towards Dean, standing almost inches away from his face._

_"This misery that's burning you right here..." the demon said as it poked roughly at Dean's heart, "will hurt you, will fucking burn you way more than anything we can do to you and you know it. No need for the extra work, you can torture yourself up here while we torture your brother down there. You can say we're hitting two birds with one stone, all thanks to you sugar." It said as it let out a wicked chuckle._

"Dean!"

Dean snapped out of the memory when Bobby called out his name, he rubbed the spot above heart, sensed the demon's poke like some phantom pain.

"Will you stop drowning yourself in this crap?!" Bobby yelled as he tries to pull the bottle from Dean.

"Let it go old man." Dean said as he pulled the bottle from Bobby's grasp.

"No son, I've watched this for two months now, I _let it go_ for too long! You're disappearing before my eyes Dean! You no longer eat, you no longer speak, heck boy, you no longer hunt!"

Dean winced at the word _Hunt_.

"Yeah what a crap of a job that's been, I'm through with it, all of it." He said as he took another unmerciful jug.

"That's exactly my point Dean! How can you, out of all people, be through with hunting?! It's in your blood! You killed more evil than any other hunter I know! And now you're acting like you don't give a shit?! How do you think Sam's gonna feel when he sees you like this?!"

Something snapped in Dean, Bobby almost heard it, and wondered if he took his words too far. Dean dropped the bottle of Jack and shoved Bobby to the wall with force. "Don't you ever…" Dean said with a voice filled with venom "Ever bring his name up."

But Bobby didn't budge, "What Dean? You think you're the only one who lost him? You think I don't feel the pain you're going through? I lost him as well! But from the looks of it, it seems like I'm losin' ya too! Dammit this is not the Dean I know!"

Dean released Bobby and lets out a sick chuckle as he steps back.

"Well I hate to break it to ya old man but that Dean was long gone if you haven't noticed, you only got the shell, take it or fucking leave it." He said while he raised both arms to present himself.

"Son" Bobby let out a sad sigh as he stared at the broken man in front of him, "You don't deserve to be like this, to live like this, you're drowning yourself in guilt that's not even yours!"

"Never asked you to play judge Judy on me Bobby" Dean retorted.

"Dean…"

"What Bobby?" He said as he stepped forward, coming almost face to face with the man, "What is it exactly that you want me to do huh? Walk around like everything's made of sunshine? Wear a damn smile on my face while my chest feels like it's about to explode?! You asked me to be here Bobby!" he said as he roughly pointed at Bobby, unintentionally mimicking the demon's poke, "You dragged me into your crap of a place, I can leave if I'm too much to handle. I don't need you sulking behind me like a damn shrink."

Bobby couldn't take it, the pain in Dean's eyes was suffocating him.

"No Dean, no I don't want you to leave, I'm just worried about you son."

"_Son_" he mocked, "Get it through your thick scull Bobby, I'm not your damn son so quit with the worrying monologue cause I'm sick of it." He stormed out of the room, grabbed a jacket, slipped on his boots which he didn't bother to tie, "I'm going out, don't wait up."

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Bobby waited up, it was past midnight and he was starting to panic. He was about to leave and start searching for the lost boy when the door opened and Dean's figure slowly emerged through the dim lights.

"Dean! Where the heck have you been?! I was this close to call a search team on you!"

"I told you not to wait up" Dean slurred.

"Sue me Dean, you been sulking in some bar again haven't ya?! You could've at least answered your damn phone."

Dean dragged himself across the room heavily, the guilt on his shoulders almost visible from the looks of his bowed back. He shoo'd off Bobby's voice with a lousy hand, almost smacking Bobby's face. He took a few drunken steps and tripped against his barely functioning legs.

Bobby caught him before his face met the floor. "Easy boy I gotcha, I gotcha, goodness how much did ya drink ya idgit?!"

"Not enough to drown this ship." Dean said while pointing at himself, eyes barely held open.

Bobby stared down at the boy's face, looking as pale as ever, typical, another night was gone with Dean filling his stomach with nothing but alcohol and grief. He took a closer look and noticed the nasty wound that hung right above Dean's left eye.

"You got into another bar fight boy?"

"Yess sirrr I did." Dean slurred with pride.

"Dammit Dean what happened this time?!"

Dean chuckled before he spoke, "Man was sitting too close, told him to find himself another stool. Pushed him too hard ha! Waddaya know? Guess I still got some muscle left in me."

"What? Why would you do that Dean?"

"Told him I was lethal," he said while letting out a lazy smirk, "told him I'm a tickin' bomb, was doing him a favor, savin' his ass before I blew it" he coughed, " Heck I might have you killed as well old man, why you still here then? hmm?" He slurred as his eyes closed.

Bobby ignores the senseless justification, "Come on let's get you to bed."

He pulls Dean's left shoulder and lifts him up the floor, surprised at how less of an effort it took to carry the boy as the days rolled by,_ this can't go on Dean _he thought to himself.

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They made it to the room with extra time and effort, by then, Dean rested most of his weight on Bobby. The old hunter dropped Dean down the bed, gently placed his head into the pillow, took off his boots, removed his jacket while Dean seemed to be drifting on and off. He covered him in a blanket then ran to the kitchen and grabbed a wet cloth. He returned to find Dean in the same position, if trembling slightly, and started dabbing the wound above his left eye.

Dean winced and spoke softly, "You didn't answer me Bobby."

"Answer what Dean?"

"Why… why you still around?" he asked with a voice that made him sound like a young lost boy, "I had Dad killed… then I had Sammy killed, stay longer and I, I might have you killed." A tear ran down the side of his cheek and met with the pillow as he swallowed thickly, "So why Bobby?" his voice broke, "tell me why you're still here?" he asked with eye brows raised as if to barely hold his heavy lids up, desperately waiting for an answer.

Bobby thought for a minute as he continued to dab Dean's wound. "Listen boy, you had nothing to do with their deaths you understand?" he said sternly and ignores Dean's snicker of disbelief. "And if you ask me why I'm around," he paused as he stared down at Dean's drooping eyes and felt a lump in his throat forming, "it's because I can feel your pain, because I can hear your cries, I can see your tears, and I can sense your guilt. I lost Sam, I couldn't save him and for that I'm sorry. But I won't forgive myself if I couldn't save you Dean. I owe you that much. I won't lose you, I won't let it. And because…" he choked on the words before continuing "You're the closest thing I have to a son. Whether you like it or not dammit! I'll still look at you as my son! You hear that Dean?!" he said as he gripped Dean's forearm.

Bobby took a shaky breathe and covered his trembling mouth with his hand, shocked at how he lost himself in the emotion, wiped a few tears that edged the corner of his eyes. He looked down and was relieved to see that Dean was too far gone to hear of his breakdown. His eyes were now completely closed, a small frown rested above his eyes as if in pain.

Bobby lifted his hand and slowly massaged Dean's forehead, he smiled sadly as Dean's head unconsciously leaned to his touch. Once he was sure the boy's asleep and comfortable, he slowly rose from the chair and started to turn around. Suddenly, he found Dean's hand weakly grabbing his, as if to hold him from leaving.

"Mm sorry Bobby… Mm s'sorry." Dean mumbled.

"I know kid, I know."

"_son_… glad t' be like 'ur _son_… Ju... Just" Dean stopped as his face grimaced with a wave of sadness.

"Shhh Dean it's okay, just what?" he said as he bent down to hear Dean's fading voice.

"Just… don' leave me Bobby…" He let out in a pained whisper.

Bobby heard his own heart breaking in his chest. Before he was able to find his voice and say something that would make it better, Dean let out a tired sigh and passed out.

Bobby sat back down, tears now ran loosely down his cheek which he didn't even bother to wipe, gripped Dean's limb hand and stared at the boy he learned to love ever since he was four years old, memories flashing of all the good and bad times he went through with this kid, this man, this.. son.

"Don't you worry Dean, I ain't going nowhere". He says as he rocked in his chair with Dean's hand clutched between his, "I ain't going nowhere son."

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**Tada! Well I know no time travel mojo jojo happened yet, for now, I just wanted to get a grip of Dean's desperation before we go the traveling actually starts, this will justify the pain he'll put himself through to have Sam back. **

**I must say that this is my first attempt in writing a fanficiton, I've always been a reader of these stories, never thought I'd actually write one. Hence, your reviews would be super duper helpful! Let me know if I should go ahead with this story, if it actually interests you :)**

******A big juicy thanks to Deansbabybird (Bev) for pushing to take this story into writing! **


	2. Chapter 2

_Mud._

_That's the first thing that he noticed, a long dirty road covered in mud. The slippery feel of the substance under the soles of his boots annoyed him, it seemed so very familiar._

_A flashlight in his left, a shotgun in his right, he knew who he was looking for, he knew which path to take, he had done this before._

_"SAM!" He yelled out while looking through the darkness, ears worked overtime to trace any sign of his brother against the deafening silence of the woods._

_"DEAN!"_

_His knees almost buckled with relief when he heard his brother shouting his name, but there was that damn feeling again, he held his breath as he sensed the danger before it happened. The shadow was there, lurked behind Sam as if to mock Dean's attempt once again. His body suddenly decided to work on slow mode and failed to deliver a warning before Sam's back arched around the knife. He sprouted into a run, perhaps if he ran a little bit faster this time, but the mud, the damn slipper mud won't let him!_

"NO!"

He was shocked back to the real world by his own scream, realized that he fell for the nightmare once again like he was stuck in some memory loop. He achingly curled to his right side as if to hold inside the trembling that suddenly took over. Without warning, something rumbled in his stomach and bile urged itself up his throat. He forced himself out of bed with barely functioning legs and ran to the toilet just in time to vomit the alcohol. The bile's aftertaste made him grimace,_ tastes like fucking mud._

He doubled over with arms clutching the toilet's ring for dear life, stomach violently released all the alcohol he forced in last night, "Oh God," Dean mumbled when he felt his throat fighting against the dry heaves that left him panting for a breath, as if his body was disciplining him for the abuse.

His eyes were forced shut as his body raged against him while his head felt like it was about to explode. Through the punishment, something soft rubbed his back "It's okay Dean, let it out son, try to relax," Bobby softly repeated as he rested a cold cloth on the back of his neck.

Dean hated how good the coldness felt against his clammy skin. He breathed through the waves of nausea and lifted his head up slowly when they finally began to rest. Bobby quietly handed him a glass of water which Dean took without looking up to rinse and spit the aftertaste. He started to push himself against the toilet when Bobby bent down intending to grab his arm, offer him support, but typical Dean, he pushed Bobby's hand away walked and unsteadily towards the room, collapsed back to the bed, and immediately folded himself into a ball as if to hide away from it all.

"You stay put, let me grab you some Aspirin and a cup o…"

"Mm fine Bobby, don't want your pampering," Dean cut him off, subconsciously hit himself for being mean to the old man when he was just trying to help, he didn't deserve Bobby's attention, definitely didn't deserve his help.

Bobby noticed that Dean's walls were back up, gone was the needy pained young boy that left him sitting last night on that chair till morning. Every time he was about to pull his hands away, Dean would unconsciously grab on with whatever strength he had left, as if the old man's hand was the only thing sheltering him from the dark abyss of his nightmares.

Back to the present, Bobby slowly covered Dean with the blanket which Dean tried to shrug away while his eyes were closed, he continued talking as if he didn't give a crap what Dean wanted at that moment, "Well I know you must be havin' a killer headache boy so I'll put it next to your bed, take it or leave it." he said without waiting for a reaction. Dean just grunted as he held the sides of his head, as if trying to keep his skull intact.

Bobby left to the kitchen, popped two Aspirin pills and filled a cup with warm water, he did it slower than usual, dreading the conversation that was to come. _How am I gonna break the news to him? _He thought to himself as he squeezed the bridge of his nose.

Just this morning, he received a call from a friend named Greg down in New Orleans, needed some help with a haunted cabin he was planning to move into. Now if it was any other guy, Bobby would've excused himself without a second thought, he wasn't planning to leave Dean in the state he was in, but that's the thing, this was Greg. Their bond went way back to when Bobby lost his wife, Greg was his buffer, he was no hunter or soldier, just a regular good old friend he met at a bar who was at the right place and knew what to say at the right time. Thinking back, he surely would've killed himself if it weren't for Greg's shoulder to lean on. He had to get this done, he owed him this much.

_But how can I?!_ The other side of Bobby yelled as he looked back at the room, saw Dean as he covered his whole self in the blanket he tried to reject earlier, clutched it as if it was shield of stone against the world. He sighed to himself, it's been 2 months, and Dean seemed to be going further down the drain rather than up.

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Two hours later, Dean walked out of the room showered and dressed, but that didn't seem to be doing him any better. It seemed like water washed the color off his face, his cheeks now looked paler than the day before, which made his freckles stand out like ink and the dark circles under his eyes like bruises. He was a far cry from the predator that sprouted fear amongst the Supernatural.

As usual, he headed to the cabin in search of the bottle of Jack, but when he found the storage empty, he prepared himself to snap at Bobby, but Bobby beat him to it.

"That's enough Dean."

"Bobby, I'm not asking for your permission, let's act like adults here" he says hoarsely, throat still ached from the throwing-up escapade.

"I will if you stop acting like a kid! You almost drowned yourself in rum last night, all I'm asking for is that you fill your sick stomach with something other than liquid ya idgit."

Dean rolled his eyes and exhaled in annoyance, he roughly grabbed a toast on the table and bit off a chunk then smacked the toast back on the table, "There! Ya Happy?! Now where's the bottle Bobby?"

"Unbelievable Dean, you're damn straight unbelievable."

"Well fucking believe it old man, God…" Dean said as he rubbed his eyes then stared back at Bobby, "Are we gonna do this every damn morning?" Dean asked impatiently.

"No Dean, you won't have to, I'm leaving tonight." Bobby snapped, cursing himself at how he revealed the news to the kid, he hadn't meant to drop it stone cold like that!

A hint of terror flashed through Dean's eyes before his blank mask was poorly placed back on, "Well that's good to know, it's about time you quite with this fatherly role playing."

But Bobby knows better, under all this bravado act Dean had goin' on, he was as scared as Bobby was, last night was enough proof.

Dean grabbed the glass of water, anything to hide the tremble that ran through his fingers, he took a sip to shove the piece of toast that suddenly seemed so hard to swallow. He didn't feel like arguing, the surprising news of Bobby leaving, the killer headache, and the exhaustion of throwing up made him weak and he sat down, folded his arms on the table and dug his head between. _It was only a matter of time till they all left._

As if Bobby sensed Dean's thoughts and said right away to undo his reckless damage, "I'm only going for a bit Dean, it just happens to be a quick hunt I can't skip, was actually thinking if you might wanna come with?"

"Good for you Bobby, and no thanks I'll pass the invitation." Dean said, voice muffled from between his arms.

"Expected," Bobby knew Dean's answer before he even asked it, "Well I won't be long, heading to New Orleans, remember Gre…"

He was cut off short as Dean jolted his head from his arms with glazed eyes, he gulped a few times before speaking, "N… New Orleans?".

"Yes Dean," Bobby answered tentatively, "You got some beef there?"

Dean closed his eyes, no longer caring about hiding his trembling hands as the shaking climbed up his shoulders, he was almost able to hear Sam's voice in his head as Bobby's became distant. He brought his face back down to the cocoon of his arms, closed his eyes and breathed shallowly through the memory…

_"Out of all the cities I've been to Dean, can't get enough of New Orleans! Hey that kinda rhymes!" Sam said as he took a sip of some good old New Orleans brewed coffee._

_Dean chuckled to himself, "Oh yeah? And why's that?"_

_"Look at this place," He said as they casually strolled down the French Quarter of the mystique city, "You walk around people who believe in myths, legends, vampires, ghosts, witches, fortune tellers, voodoo dolls, Dean you name it!"_

_"And why would that be comforting?" Dean asked with a raised eyebrow._

_"Cause it's a place where I'd feel normal in, I'm at peace. We can walk around and say we hunt the supernatural and people would actually believe us, accept us, maybe even damn respect us and not think we're a bunch of nut jobs. They might as well find my vision mojo jojo cool! It's liberating." Sam sighed to himself, "I'd come here anytime just to feel this peace Dean, heck I'd die here if I can."_

_"You're full of shit Sam" Dean snorted as he shook his head._

_Sam let out a laugh, he stopped abruptly as he noticed a street _saxophonist_ playing some Jazzy tune._

_Dean looked at his brother with surprise, "Never knew you were the jazz kinda guy Sammy."_

_"There are other types of music besides that cassette box of yours Dean," Sam said as he smiled at the guy to encourage his playing._

_Dean chuckled as he stared in awe, noticed Sam's head softly rocking with the tune, eyes closed to enjoy the music; he really looked as if in peace._

_Peace…_

"Dean!"

Dean jolted back from the memory and blinked a few times to register that he was back in the kitchen, the saxophonist's tune still played in his head as if he was right behind him.

"Will you stop blacking out like that every now and then?!" Bobby said with concern.

Dean just stared at him, Sam's voice echoed clearly in his mind, "_I'd come here any time just to feel this peace Dean."_

As if something clicked in his head, resolve registered in his face, "I'll go."

"What? You wanna come along?" Bobby asked, without bothering to hide the hope in his voice. After two months, two long agonizing months of sleepless drunken tearful nights, Dean was finally leaving his shell.

"No Bobby, you're staying, I'm going."

He didn't see that coming, "What's that supposed to mean Dean?"

"Means exactly what it means, I'm going alone. I'll take care of the…h…" Dean choked on the word that caused him so much pain and tried again, "I'll take care of the hunt." He said it with such effort that almost broke him into a sweat.

Bobby couldn't help but wince, the word itself had Dean shaken up, what would the actual task do to him?! "Dean maybe this isn't a good idea, your legs are barely holding you up and you're as pale as the wall behind ya," he said worriedly, "No, Dean I don't think it's smart that you go alone."

Dean gave a false smile, "Funny, I don't remember asking for your thoughts Bobby." With that, he stood up and headed straight to his room, he had to do this now. He dusted off his gear while the old man tempered from behind but he just didn't hear a single word being shouted at him, as if he switched on some mute button within him.

He lost his brother, gone were his clothes, his books, his pranks, his protection, his aid, his voice. He had nothing left of him, nothing to remind him of his Sammy except for them damn nightmares. _New Orleans_, he said reassuringly to himself, _it'll take me back to Sammy. _It'll take him to the antique shops where Sam fiddled with holy beaded necklaces and bombarded the shop owner with questions about their history; the old bookstore where Sammy camped for hours reading about ancient spells and enchantments; the coffee shop next to their motel where Sam claimed every morning that it's the best roasted coffee created by mankind; and then there was the saxophonist.

_It'll take me back to Sammy _he said to himself again.

With Bobby still muted out, Dean grabbed his duffel bag and stuffed it with the flashlight and shotgun, winced at the memory of when he held these two instruments together. He pauses, takes a calming breath, and continues to shove objects inside, salt rounds, regular bullets, silver bullets, vervine, holy water and _all that_ _jazz._ Bobby just stared at him with the same amount of shock as Dean seemed to be more determined by the second, "Dean would you stop and listen to me for a sec?! You're not up for this yet son! Not alone you aren't!"

Dean still chose to ignore Bobby as he wore his leather jacket, slipped on his boots, and shoved in his Swiss Army knife with quick ease.

The old man didn't know if this is over-steamed adrenaline or plain energy, heck if it weren't for the paleness of Dean's skin and loss of muscle, he would've thought Dean was back in the game.

"Dean I won't allow this!" Bobby suddenly yelled while blocking the front door as Dean stood up to leave.

Dean, suddenly getting his hearing back, dropped the bag roughly against the floor and looked straight at the old hunter like a bull ready to attack, he clenched his jaw before he spoke, "Really Bobby? You wanna say that to me one more time? You've been pressing my buttons for the past two months to go back to hunting; and now that I am you're blocking the door? Make up your fucking mind!"

"Son I'm glad, I really am, I just don't think you should do it alone is all. Why do you all of a sudde…"

Dean cut him off, "_Why'_s none of your business, and I've done solo hunts before so rest your head." He sensed his adrenaline fading away, he had to pass through Bobby, get out the door before his mind closed off on him. "Now…" Dean started, then swallowed a cough that rose up his chest. "What's this gig about?" He said with the last thread of strength he found within him.

"Dean…"

"Bobby," Dean's eyes begged as he raised his left arm to rest on the door frame, balanced himself as if he was standing on the tip of a mountain about to fall off the edge, "Please," he whispered as he barely kept himself held together, "just tell me what do I have to do." His head bent down to stare at the floor. In less than five seconds, Dean turned from determined to desperate.

Bobby broke over the sudden change, "Okay son okay", he said as he rested his hand on Dean's shoulder, lending him some of the strength which he just overused, "I'll tell ya all ya need to know, just take a breath."

And Dean did, he closed his eyes and wiped a tear before Bobby got the chance to see it. He listened to Bobby's instructions while Sam's voice played like a mantra in his head, "_I'd come here anytime to feel this peace Dean, heck I'd die here if I can…"_

_Yeah, _Dean thought to himself,_ I'd die here too._

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**Had to post this chapter even though nothing much happens here, basically this is the calm before the storm *evil grin*, I'm too excited to get into the actual juice of this story! **

**Please let me know what you think of the story so far, am I presenting the characters right? Am I depressing Dean too much? Am I going too slow or too fast? Let me know, this is complete foreign ground for me and your feedback would definitely help me in getting a clear grip of how to move with this.**


	3. Chapter 3

For two straight months, Dean had neglected her, had abandoned her like a sinking ship that carried nothing but ghosts. He left her out in the cold while he sulked in the dark, not daring to look at her, too ashamed, too weak, too afraid of what he'll find inside.

But today, today he needed her.

With a trembling hand, Dean cracked her door open, the familiar squeaking noise almost made him falter. "_You should oil these damn doors hinges Dean",_ Sam would repeatedly tell him, but Dean would snap back, _"Hey! Watch what you say in front of her, she's got feelings. Classic cars squeak, get over it._"_ he'd say as he rubbed the roof of the car "Don't you worry baby he doesn't understand us."_

He slid hesitantly while holding his breathe, feeling uncomfortable like he was entering some stranger's home. He pulled the metal door and a sense of claustrophobia overwhelmed him. Too terrified to move, he kept his gaze straight ahead, _don't look to your right, don't look to your right, don't fucking look to your right._

His trembling hands inserted the key into the ignition ever so slowly, a lump formed in his throat as he heard the rumble he used to call a melody. The interior smelled of leather, salt, and gunpowder, a scent which he relished like a drug. He took a few long breathes through his nose and found himself calming a bit, getting a grip as he rubbed and fisted his hands around steering wheel. The leather seat held his back to keep him from falling, supported him from sliding down the abyss. Funny, he thought to himself, how he left her when they needed each other the most

Hesitantly, he pressed down on the pedal and the engine responded with a rumble, like the car was communicating with him, comforting him with her soothing voice, _"I gotcha, I gotcha."_

He smiled to himself and whispered "I've missed you girl." His muscles relaxed, his vision cleared, his breathe steadied. He looked and drove straight ahead, he was almost able to smell the New Orleans brewed coffee.

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Five hours into the drive, Dean kept going through instructions Bobby gave him, anything to keep him from looking to his damn right. It was a pretty simple gig, haunted cabin a few miles from the French Quarter, just another unrested ghost looking for a cup of revenge. Bobby gave him the history of the place, the ghost's name, the grave's location, even Greg's number. He had everything laid out, this was too easy.

But this wasn't the hard part, wasn't what he drove a thousand miles for...

_Keep looking straight_! He snapped to himself as his neck was about to look to his right. But he couldn't, the longing was too much, he almost felt Sam's warmth against his right shoulder, almost heard his brother's long legs shuffling against the tight confinement of the car. He gulped and slowly looked to his right with hesitant eyes, terrified of what he'll see there, of what that empty leather seat might hold.

"God Dean get a grip," he whispered hoarsely when he found the seat empty.

He returned to looking straight ahead for a few seconds, then unconsciously back to the right, unprepared and defenseless against the memory that played so vividly.

_"I swear, man, you've gotta update your cassette tape collection." Sam said as he dug into at least a dozen cassettes in the box on his lap; some had album art, others were hand-labeled._

"Why?" Dean asked out loud, echoing the memory.

_"Well, for one, they're cassette tapes. And two." Sam held up a tape for every band he named. "Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica?"_

_Dean snorted as he took the box from Sammy, "Well, house rules, Sammy." He said as he popped the Metallica's tape in the player. "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."_

Dean closed his eyes, almost heard Metallica's song playing.

_"Come on Sammy you gotta love this music!" _

_"It's Sam, okay?"_

_"Sorry, I can't hear you Sammy, the music's too loud."_

Dean opened his eyes to bring himself back to the present, _God I'd give anything to hear your voice now Sammy. _

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7 long hours and two gas stops later, Dean saw New Orleans road sign; he swallowed a lump as his eyes held their gaze on the road sign till it disappeared from view.

_I can do this,_ he thought to himself.

Bit by bit, highway trees disappeared and the city started to show. Rows of colorful buildings and shops started to appear. Neon signs that read "Bourbon Blues" and "Basin Street Jazz Club" captured his attention. _You'd love to be here wouldn't ya Sammy?_

He continued driving until he reached the French Quarter of the city, the tremble that had left him in the morning started to return with a vengeance when the motel he stayed in with his brother just a few months ago appeared into view.

It looked exactly the same, the exterior was made of red bricks, some pieces were missing but this is what gave it the nice antique look that Sam loved so much, long vines crawled and wrapped around the edges of the motel like they were what held the building straight. The roof was covered in green tiles where birds found it nice to sit and watch the world from below, some seemed to be gawking right at him and he looked away nervously.

He could've picked a motel closer to the grave where the hunt was taking place but Sammy loved this motel; it had an ancient mystique ambiance to it. Across from the building, there was a long brick wall where ads and posters of fortune tellers, witches, and voudists were posted. Sam, being the curious one of the two, loved to read through each one in the early morning while Dean slept, he sometimes even paid them a visit, _"Not all those who deal with the Supernatural are evil Dean."_ Sam would say. The wall was still standing there, staring back at him, waiting for his brother to finish his reading.

He gulped and looked away, found a parking space and turned off his car, the sudden disappearance of his baby's soothing made him feel alone once more. He opened the door slowly and stood up on weary legs, the humid ocean air caught him by surprise, felt refreshing yet nauseating at the same time. The constant hits of flashbacks and the non-stop driving had him fatigued and exhausted.

His phone rang and he knew who it was before looking. He had already ignored Bobby's three calls during the ride. He made a mental note to call the old man later as he picked up his duffel back from the back

With tight lungs, he headed to the main office to check in, suddenly, his legs were brought to a halt, as if the vines from outside crawled in and wrapped around his feet, pinning him to the ground._ Shit_, he whispered to himself. Right ahead of him, was the same receptionist from a few months back, he remembered her, very well to say the least. She looked exactly the same like she hadn't moved from her spot since the last time he saw her, he closed his eyes as he recalled the dialogue.

_"Name's Mardi, ya know, from Mardi Gras"_ she'd say with a flirty thick New Orleans accent as she'd step a bit too close into Sam's personal space while they booked in, "_your name's Sam eh? I've always had it hard for Sams." _

_What? that didn't even make sense! _Dean would grimace at the ridiculously poor pick-up line.

Apparently, Mardi had eyes for his little brother, and for some unknown reason, Sam found her flirty behavior cute, even had the decency to flirt back at her like some damn Casanova.

_"Mardi, well I haven't heard of someone called Mardi, so I can't say I have it hard for that name, but I'm sure willing to start with yours."_

_Oh you gotta be kidding me, the boy needed some serious Romeo tutoring!_ Dean would think as he grimaced even more.

_"Suck it up big brother, you're just jealous she likes me."_ Sam would say as they entered their room.

_"Jealous!?"_ Dean would retort and make a disgusted face, _"Dude me being jealous is the least of your concerns she's as old as Ellen! But hey__, I see what you're doing and I get little brother, I really do."_ Dean would say as he patted Sam's shoulder in a sarcastic way of comforting him,_ "You lost hope with all the women your age since they all unsurprisingly come to me. So now you're going for the older women theme, gotta say I like this new approach of survival Sammy."_

_"Whatever Mr. Perfect." _Sam would say as he jokingly shrugged Dean's hand off.

Mardi would pass by their room whenever she found a reason to just so she could get a glimpse of Sammy the hot shot. Her cheeks were always red, either from the heat or from being flushed by Sam's presence, Dean wasn't sure.

_"Hey Sam, got ya some towels, know how New Orleans weather makes ya appreciate a cool, refreshing shower"_

_"Hey Sam, got ya some newspapers if ya like_." They both laughed hard when they found her number written on one of the pages with a little doodle of a Mardi Gras mask next to it.

_"Hey Sam, we got some breakfast service if ya interested."_ And she'd do that for lunch and dinner as well.

"Hey boy you gonna stand there playin' statue?" Mardi said from afar, jolting him back from the memory. She was a bit overweight, hair red as fire and curly tied in a messy bun. Her neck was filled with beads of all colors and sizes Dean wondered how she could hold up her head with the weight of them. Her cheeks weren't as red, which explains it, Sam wasn't here to get her all flustered.

He walked towards her desk and bent his head down to keep his identity hidden in case she remembered him.

"I'd like to have the room farthest to the right if it's empty please, think it's 323." He said hurriedly.

"Boy I'm right here" she said when he kept staring at the floor.

He winced and lifted his head slowly, _please don't remember._

She gave him a smile, "Yeah that room's available. Hold on, do I know you?" She said as soon as their eyes met.

_Fuck._

"Nah," he said trying to hide his nervousness, "don't think so. I get that all the time though. I just have a common f…"

She jumped in, "Oh wait wait I know!" she said as she smacked his shoulder with his credit card. "You're that detective that investigated some creepy crime that happened downtown, boy what happened to you?" she asked as she looked him up and down, "I can swear you were twice this size!"

Dean just held his breath, he knew what was coming and had no time to prepare.

She glanced at the empty space beside him before looking back to his face, "Where's yer partner? What's his name.." She said as she held her thumb and pinky between her forehead to extract the right name, "Sam!" she said gleefully.

Dean almost faltered when she said it. "I don't know what you're talking about, you have me confu…" he said as he looked down again.

"Oh don't gimmie that crap," she said as she smacked him with the card one more time, "I'd recognize your eyes anywhere. Where's he? He left?"

"S.. something like that." He said, barely keeping it together, maybe this whole thing was a bad idea.

"What got another job? Maybe He found a girl and they are off making beautiful babies together, chere? ran to some love escapade?" Mardi asked with slight worry.

"No, listen can you just book me in I'm a hur…"

He accidentally landed his eyes on her again and her blue curious eyes seemed to lock him in place, pinning him and extracted all she needed to know. His eyes were his biggest weakness and always gave him away.

"He dead ain't he?" She whispered as she covered her mouth with her hand, "How? What happened?" She jumped in.

_I had got him killed_, Dean thought to himself.

"Listen lady you gonna check me in or do I find myself another motel?" Dean snapped, failing to hide the shake in his voice.

"Easy boy easy." Mardi said, suddenly seeing the whole package, she could've sworn she saw him tremble.

She continued the registration silently, Dean refusing her further eye contact by staring resolutely at the floor. He grabbed the room's key, thanked her with a nod and left feeling suddenly the urge to breathe.

Mardi from behind shook her head sadly, realizing with a sympathetic sadness that he had inadvertently paid for a double room.

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He opened the door, the room seemed exactly the same, like they had just left it yesterday.

_I'm here Sammy_ he said as he sat on his bed and stared at the empty one in front of him. Suddenly feeling drained after his conversation with Mardi, he tilted to his right till his right side rested on the bed, boots still on the ground.

_I'm here Sammy_ he said again as his eyes kept staring at the bed.

"It seems that Mardi's still got a crush on ya, she was worried that you ran off with some girl." He said with a laugh.

He would've stayed in this spot forever, he thought about touring the city but the encounter with Mardi alone was enough to drain him.

He was about to drift off when his phone rang again and he picked up, knowing who it was without looking at the screen.

"Dean?! Is that you?" Bobby said frantically.

"Yeah Bobby, I'm here." Dean said, unknowingly missing the old man.

"Well why didn't ya call like I told you to ya idgit?! I was worrying beyond my wits boy!"

"Sorry Bobby." He didn't know what else to say.

"Yeah sure, listen I told Greg to ya down at the graveyard by midnight alright?"

"Sure Bobby, I'll meet him there and then." Dean said with an exhausted sigh.

"Son you get something to eat first Dean, you can't hunt like this!"

"Kay Bobby I promise. I'll call you when I'm finished." He said as he shut the phone, not waiting for a reply.

He was about to drift off, body yearning for sleep after all those restless nights, but he knew what nightmares waited behind those lids, the feeling of mud brushing against his soles was still fresh in his mind.

He rose listlessly to his feet, trying to find the motivation he needed to push his weary body further and grabbing a change of clothes, stumbled to the shower. Maybe the water would revive him?

Once showered Dean felt a little bit more awake but he knew what would sharpen him more. He needed a shot of caffeine so headed for the nearest coffee shop right next to the motel, the one Sammy had fallen in love with.

He looked down as he placed his order, afraid that the waitress might remember him as well and asks for Sammy. He took the coffee, paid the money without bothering to take the change.

Once he was outside, he took a sip and closed his eyes relishing the taste. "You're right Sammy, best coffee made by mankind." Dean nodded as if Sam was right there with him.

He lifted his head and stared walking towards his car. Night loomed over but the city seemed to be coming to life by then. After a quick stocktake of the trunk to check he had all he needed, he got in his car, and headed to the graveyard where Greg was to meet him there. It was not even close to midnight, so he'd be early for their rendezvous but Dean found it impossible to sit still. The atmosphere of the city and the memories it stirred in him were welcomed but also disquieting and he just had to keep moving.

While driving, he spotted the old bookstore Sam used to camp in, it was a tiny square of a building which he could see through since the walls were mostly covered in windows. He stopped the car unconsciously, mission gone to the back of his mind, and marched towards the bookstore, not seeing anything but the place, his vision seemed to have tunneled and left nothing but the view of the bookstore.

He went in attentively, the smell of ancient books hit him with force.

_"That's the smell of knowledge"_ Sam would say after taking a long breathe

_"You hit your head too hard back in college Sammy,_" Dean would joke back.

He spotted a shelf of books and traced each binding, his strong fingers gentle on the old leather, did Sammy read this? Maybe he read that one? Or that one? The memories pummeled his brain threatening to overwhelm him and yet he couldn't disengage from them.

He kept walking aimlessly between the shelves, until he finally found it, the spot where his little brother spent hours reading, an oversized old leather chair, the hide covering it mellowed to a warm bronze by years of use. It had probably been there since the bookstore opened. Dean felt a sense of misplaced anger with he noticed that someone else was occupying the seat now, wanted to tell him to move away from this spot, wasn't his, _was Sam's!_

"Looking for something in particular?" An old lady's voice intruded his frustration.

Dean almost stumbled backwards, she was right in front of him, when did she show up? _Losing your hunter motor skills Dean, nice_, he thought to himself.

He looked at her again, she had long thin grey hair that reached her waist, wore round glasses that were too big on her face and she seemed to need to push them back up her nose every few minutes.

"No," he said, feeling nervous. "Just looking around."

"Alright, well if ya need anythin' ya just let me know."

"Yeah thanks." He looked back at the spot and noticed that the guy who was sitting there left. Feeling slightly relieved, he took a few steps, looked at the empty spot with both dread and yearning. He took a gulp and brought himself down the comfy leather chair with tight muscles. As soon as he sat down, he could almost sniff Sam's smell, sense Sam's warmth, hear Sam's long fingers ruffling through the pages. He chuckled to himself, "Hope you don't mind me taking over your favorite spot Sammy," he said to no one.

He rested his tense neck against the leathery back, his fingers clutched at the sides of the chair as if to place his hands where Sam's were once upon a time. He closed his eyes, the "scent of knowledge" lulling him to sleep, the feel of the leather texture, the sounds of pages being flipped, it was all the peace he needed, never felt so relaxed...

_He could die here.._.

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An annoying sound broke off his peaceful escape, bit by bit, he registered that it was his phone ringing.

"Yeah" he said, irritated at whoever it was, surprised at how groggy he sounded.

"Hi is this Dean?" a stranger's voice asked.

"Yeah who's this?" Dean asked tensely.

"It's Greg, Bobby gave me yer number, hope ya don't mind."

"No problem, I'm not sure if Bobby told you, but we're going to meet at the grave at around midnight."

"Yeah he told me, I just wanted to check since it's almost 11 and I haven't heard from ya yet."

Dean couldn't stop himself, "It is?!" he jumped in. He was sure it was around 8 when he came in. He looked around and suddenly noticed that indeed, the lights were dimmer and it was just him in that chair. Had he dozed off?

"Kay I'll be right up" Dean said as he hung up the phone, still a bit confused. He stood up slowly, muscles aching from the odd sleeping position. He took silent steps, worried that someone might spot him.

"Slept well?" someone said from the back, Dean jumped and twisted around in alarm.

"Calm down son, you needed it." it was the same old lady.

"Sorry I dozed off." He said, he couldn't help but to avoid her eye contact. He and his brother were always there, she either didn't remember him or didn't want to push it.

"Rest your shoulders boy" she said as she brought her hand and pointed at his shoulders, "You gonna pop it out of its socket if ya keep carrying all that" she said while she pointed at the empty space above him, like she saw an invisible package.

"Yeah okay." Dean said as he walked backwards, wanting to leave as soon as possible. She read him like an open book and it made him feel uncomfortable.

He got out, climbed into the car and started the engine. He was about to leave when he saw her through the window watching him, no, more like staring right through him. She lifted her right hand towards her left shoulder, then did a sweeping motion, like she was dusting the weight off, then pointed back at him, asking him to do the same. He got the message, gave her a nervous smile and drove off.

Halfway through the road, Dean realized that him sleeping in that chair was the first time in a long time where he dozed off without any nightmares, he let out a sigh.

"You really are here aren't ya Sammy" he whispered sadly as he looked at the familiar empty space to his right.

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He reached the graveyard with no complications, wanted to get this done so he could be free to explore the Quarter at his leisure tomorrow. He walked up to the graveyard's gate, feeling Sam's absence more and more with each heavy step. Sam should've been there to walk right to next to him, he looked to his right again and all that greeted him was the cold slap of wind.

As he neared the door, he saw Greg standing there, he looked like an older version of Bobby but hair a bit longer that almost covered his ears, he had some beaded necklaces around his neck but not as much as Mardi's. He wore a cap and wondered if he influenced that fashion on Bobby or if it was the other way around.

As Dean approached, the old man yelled, "Hey there, I can tell you a Winchester from 5 miles away."

Dean almost tripped at that, he continued walking and said, "Yeah? Knew my Dad?"

"Met him a few times enough to figure what the marine was all about." He said as Dean reached him and they shook hands.

Dean just nodded his head, didn't know what to say. Sam was the one good with making small talk with new people while Dean inspected the area. Without his little brother there, conversations were just plain awkward.

"So," Dean started as he cleared his throat. He knew this was a simple hunt that he could've done with both eyes closed a few months ago, but now, he was missing the confidence and energy that once oozed out of him. He knew he was rough around the edges; he hadn't fired a gun or fought a ghost since before Sam's death, the alcohol made him lose his sharpness, and the hunger he ignored so well made him feel weak and weary.

"Are ya gonna say something after that 'so' of yours?" Greg pushed on.

Dean frowned, cursed himself for his lack of fluency.

"Sorry" Dean blurted, "Just been a long drive." He said as he gave a weak smile which Greg looked at suspiciously, Dean was almost able to hear his thoughts, _Did Bobby just sent him hunter or some rehab drop-out?_

"So," Dean tried again and ignored Greg's criticizing eyes that made him want to just drop everything and leave.

"Here's how it's going to go down. I know this might sound weird, but to stop the ghost of Philip Jackson from hammering down your cabin, I'm gonna dig in his grave then salt and burn his corpse. You can handle that?" he asked anxiously.

"Yeah don't ya worry 'bout me son, I saw enough crazy shit in that ol' cabin to last me a lifetime. Salt'n burnin' some bones don't seem so strange ta me no more. Sides, I saw Bobby doin' it a few times, never asked him what the heck he's doin' but I know it's for a good cause."

Dean nodded and continued, "Kay, you're gonna stand right there," he pointed at an area a few feet away from Philip's grave, "while you stay on guard with this gun," he handed him the rock-salt gun wearily; Sam should've been holding this.

Greg took the gun from Dean slowly, tracing the metal piece and Dean wanted to hurt him, with that movement, he was erasing Sam's trace!

_Get a grip _Dean he chastised himself.

"Don't worry son I got yer back." He yelled back as Dean walked away

He didn't know what to say. A few months ago, Dean would've thanked Greg, would've found the energy to talk with him, maybe asked him about how he met Bobby, or even how he met his Dad, but now, all he wanted to do was to get this over with so he can leave.

He nodded again, that's all he seems to be doing these days_, nodding_. He walked towards the grave. Greg stood behind him with legs slightly parted like an Old West gunslinger, getting too carried away in the role.

Dean reached Phillip's tombstone, licked his dry and chapped lips as he bent towards his duffel bag and grabbed his shovel with shaking fists. He took a breath and looked around, _You should've been the one protecting my back little brother, _he thought with a sad smile, _but since I couldn't protect yours, I can't ask you to protect mine_.

He began digging, the first shove a bit harder than usual due to the loss of muscle. He dug the dirt out and dropped it in a pile on the side.

Shove, dig, and drop

Shove, dig, and drop

Shove, dig, and drop

Sweat formed on his temples and rolled down his cheeks, mimicking the patterns of tears.

_Sammy_

As he reached halfway through the grave, the weather suddenly turned cold and puffs of clouds echoed each breathe he let out.

"Hey Dean, is it normal to get cold all of a sudden?" Greg asked from above.

"Yeah." Dean said between panting breathes, not bothering to comfort the old guy further.

"Well that's reassuring" Greg said sarcastically.

Dean felt bad for the man and was about to say something when the shovel hit something hard, "Okay I reached the coffin," he shouted", "Keep both eyes open, shoot anything that floats ya hear?!"

"Got a bad feelin' bout this boy!" Greg let out.

The wind grew extra cold but Dean didn't pay attention, he wanted this damn hunt done, he wanted to get out of here and go search for that damn saxophonist, the one that haunted his dreams of happier times when Sam's foot had tapped in rhythm to the bluesy tones and they had smiled together as they lifted a glass to salute the mellow tones.

He tore open the wooden coffin with his shovel and covered his nose with the side of his shoulder as the smell of death hit him hard. He grabbed the salt can from the inside of his jacket and poured down a generous amount over the corpse. This was easier than he thought; all he had left to do was burn the body. He was surprised Phillip didn't make an appearance till now and wondered for a moment if they dug up the wrong grave.

On cue, a shot resonated through the air.

"Dean!" Greg's voice shouted from above. "I saw the damn ghost! I shot it but I missed, it just disappeared."

Dean tensed and went faster, he poured all the salt followed by the bottle of gasoline which he left on the edge of the grave.

"Hang on Greg I'm almost d..." Another shot tore through the silence trailed by sounds of struggle.

Dean's head shot up "Greg?" but he got no answer, he started to climb out of the grave so he could set it on fire. He reached the surface in time to hear Greg's strings of curses, "missed the slick bastard again!"

_Sam wouldn't have missed_, the back of his mind thought.

"Keep both eyes open, I'm almost finished here." Dean said as he grabbed his box of matches. He was about to scratch the small stick when Phillip appeared again, but this time from an area that wasn't within Greg's vantage point. Somehow, it sensed who the real danger was, it chose to ignore Greg and headed straight to Dean who was defenseless and unprepared.

_Sammy_ was Dean's last thought before the ghost went and slammed him into a tree. He let out a grunt as wood collided with bone.

"Greg!" he coughed out but Greg grew panicked, he twirled and started shooting rock salt aimlessly. "Dammit Greg focus!", he was gonna use all the bullets!

Realizing that he was on his own, Dean punched the ghost square in the jaw, gaining benefit from the ghost's corporeal abilities.

Philip shot his face back at Dean, anger and despair resonating from its hollow eyes that almost made Dean's heart falter, it tightly grabbed Dean from his jacket and started to rise off the ground.

"Let go you son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, pushed and shoved against the ghost with no use as he felt his legs dangling in mid-air, an evil sickening grin traced on Philip's face.

"Greg! Greg shoot it!" Dean yelled from above.

He heard Greg's famous repeat of curses, "Dammit Dean I ran out of bullets!" he yelled back.

_Well then freakin load it! Sam would've!_

"Oh God! Dean!" Greg said as he realized that the young hunter was being lifted too far off the ground.

Dean kept trying to shove the ghost away as he kept being lifted higher and higher, "Let go! Greg! Light the coffin! Do something!" but Greg was too far away to hear what he's saying.

_You're on your own_ Dean, he thought again, he had do something or else he was gonna keep getting higher and pop his head like a freakin balloon.

Somehow amongst the chaos, he remembered the knife he had on the inside of his boot. He managed to bend his leg towards his back and reached it with the tips of his fingers as the ghost kept rising, he smiled back at the ghost.

"Wipe that filthy smile off your face you son of a bitch" he said as he stabbed the corporeal ghost square in the chest.

The ghost grimaced and disappeared,which left Dean tumbling gracelessly to the ground, he landed straight on his left leg, pain exploded through his being as he heard the unmistakable sound of muscle tearing.

"Nhhguh" Dean let out through closed eyes as he held his leg and braced himself against the pain.

Dead had the urge to gag from the agony lacing through his leg, but had to keep going, had to burn the damn corpse, and where the fuck was Greg?

He crawled towards the tombstone; it seemed like he was mimicking his life these days, mentally crawling through each day since Sam's death. The dirt between his fingers and around his boots reminded him of the mud in his dreams. He reached the grave and the matchbox, he was able to scratch the small stick but each one got blown with the damn wind.

He was about to try again when the ghost made a reappearance, Dean stared in alarm, once again defenseless and unprepared.

_Where are you Sammy?_

"Want to go up up again?" Philip said with the same disgusting smirk as it pointed skywards.

_Shit._

Dean braced himself, there was nothing else he could do. He didn't have a gun and the pain from his injured leg left him too weak to offer much by way of retaliation. He felt the ghost approaching as the air around him turned to ice. He unsurprisingly felt himself waiting; maybe he did want to go up up, maybe he did want the ghost to drop him down and finish off his life for good. He was lifeless either way.

He closed his eyes, sensed the ghost inches away from him, waited for its unmerciful grip when a gun shot once again echoed through the wind. It was enough to shock him out of his suicidal trance; he opened his eyes and noticed the ghost disappeared again.

"Sammy?" Dean yelled at his savior yearningly, _was it Sammy? _The pain in his leg and lack of sleep played with his mind.

"Dean snap out of it! It's Greg! You alright?" Greg said as he shouted from where he was standing, "Who's Sammy? You want me to call Sammy?" Greg asked frantically, he was clearly panicking by now.

Dean was jolted back to reality by these words,_ number's unlisted_ _Greg_ he whispered to himself.

He struggled to his hands and knees and worked on the damn match again. Just as Philip reformed, the match decided to help out and it ignited in his hand. He threw it into the grave and reared back as the coffin burst into flame Philip's smirk turned into a grimace of pain, his scream echoing through the surrounding woods. Greg rushed to Dean's aid and pulled him away from the grave. All went silent except for the ticks of fire burning and the two men's panting breathes.

"You okay?" Greg asked Dean, who still stayed on his four limbs gazing at the fire, entranced by its color, would have threw himself in it if i weren't for Greg's hard grasp on his shoulders.

"Dean?" Greg asked again, shaking him slightly enough to break Dean's gaze from the fire. Dean at Greg in shock, he almost forgot he was even there. He noticed the hands resting on his shoulder and shoved it away, "Mm fine" he said.

He mustered all the energy he had left within him and climbed stiffly to his feet. He winced in pain as weight landed on his injured leg but he had to keep moving.

"We're done here."

"That's all you gotta say? We're done?! You almost got yerself killed! You shoulda made us both more prepared son! I had to run to the duffel and search for bullets! I didn't even know if I'd find any there." Greg shouted.

"Well they wouldn't have run out if you didn't go ballistic on them!" Dean said back.

"Not tryin' to blame anyone here hunter." Greg said firmly.

Dean felt bad, he was harsh and careless, he knew he should've given the old man the complete run down of what'll happen. Heck he should've given him some extra bullets.

"I'm sorry; I haven't been in the game for a while now. You did well; you saved my life back there." _It ain't worth the save_ he thought to himself.

"Yeah? Good to be a hunter? I could be your partner." he said jokingly.

"NO!" Dean shouted a bit too aggressively as he took a few steps back. Nobody could ever replace Sam! His brother. No one!

If Sam was here, he wouldn't have been lifted 20 feet off the ground, he wouldn't have been feeling this terrible pain in his leg, he wouldn't have had to crawl in the damn dirt to reach the grave, he wouldn't been having these damn suicidal thoughts in his aching mind.

But Sam wasn't here, and it was Dean's fault, and it was his job, it was his responsibly, it was his failure, and he's paying for it.

Greg let out a sigh, "Dean, listen, just wanted to thank you for.."

"Don't" Dean cut him off as he raised his hand, he took the gun from him, if a bit roughly, he limped towards the grave where the fire almost ebbed away, shoved all the tools inside his duffel bag and headed towards the car.

"I'm heading back, let me know if you face any more trouble." Dean said as he walked past him, not even bothering to shake hands or looking back.

"Sure." Greg said as the young hunter limped towards his car, he didn't push it or try to call back on him, he knew the hunter wanted to leave before he fell into pieces, the limp grew worse with each step.

"Damn stubborn Winchesters" he whispered to himself.

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Dean thought he'd never reach the car, but he somehow did. He stood shakily trying to compose himself, holding on to her edges panting, rested his forehead on the roof, trying to absorb some strength from the cold metal. He climbed tiredly inside, slowly lifting his leg in between gasps of pain. He rested his back and closed his eyes as he tried to take steady his breathing.

"I can't do this Sammy," he whispered as he hid his face between hands covered in dirt, the smell of death, smoke, and mud filled his nostrils.

"Not without you I can't." he said again. "It should've been me." He whispered against his palms.

He slowly traced his fingers off his face, leaving dirty trails across his cheeks.

"IT SHOUD'VE BEEN ME!" He yelled as he hit the steering wheel a few times till his fists hurt. He needed a drink, he needed a drink or he was gonna do something he'd regret, he didn't trust his logic at this point.

He started the car and headed towards the French Quarter. The words _should've been me_ played repeatedly in his head like a freakin mantra.

He reached the bar across from the motel and parked carelessly. He walked in not giving a damn about the dirt that covered him or the smell of smoke that followed his figure like a freakin grey cloud. He looked like a man who just rose from a grave, the limp in his gait grimly emphasizing the effect.

The bar tender eyed him wearily but Dean didn't give a shit.

"Give me a bottle of whiskey." He said as he sat on one of the empty stools, placing both hands on the table, it only thing keeping him from falling sideways.

"You alright son?" The bartender asked as he traced Dean's appearance.

"For cryin' out loud can people stop calling me 'son'?!" Dean yelled, regretting it but too exhausted to really give a fuck.

"Easy now, here's yer damn whiskey." The bartender said as he gave him the bottle and a glass.

Dean didn't bother with the glass, he took the bottle with a fluid motion and gulped furiously, his Adam's apple trying to catch up with the liquid pouring down like a water fall.

He gulped and gulped, the sting of the drink making his eyes teary, but he didn't give a shit.

He dropped it for a few seconds to take a breath, then repeated the process again, this time, the sting wasn't so bad, the euphoria starting to fill in his mind.

As he drank, he noticed a band in the back packing their equipment, his eyes landed on the saxophonist who was in the state of gently placinge his saxophone in its bag like it was his child. It was almost 2 AM and the band was leaving, _no he ain't, he'll play first. Wasn't it a freakin night city?_ Dean justified to himself.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, "Play a tune." He pointed drunkly at the saxophonist.

"Sorry kid, come back tomorrow." The saxophonist replied without bothering to look at Dean.

"I'm not gonna be here tomorrow. This is my last day here." Dean said back, and by _here,_ he was sure he didn't just mean New Orleans.

"Unfortunate for you." the guy shot back, sounding as irritated as Dean was.

Dean dropped the bottle roughly, which caused a few eyes to lift up. "Listen man, stop acting like a damn Yanni and play the damn tune." Dean said, voice barely balancing between anger and desperation. People around the bar traced the conversation, like they were watching a tennis match, wanting to see who was gonna lose it first.

"Go to hell!" The man said, sounding more pissed by the second.

"Tried that but they sent me the fuck back!" Dean laughed at his own dark humor.

"Whatever boy, I ain't playing." He said more furiously as he was about to walk out the door.

"Beat it kid!" The guitarist said, supporting his partner.

Dean saw red, he won't let them leave before the damn saxophonist plays him a damn tune, Sammy loved it, so he was gonna fucking hear it!

He stormed to the stage and was about to give the reluctant musicians a piece of his mind, but he never made it. Four guys held on to Dean which caused him to go wild, he started punching aimlessly, the drink , the hunt, the pain, it all messed up with his fighting skills.

"Let me go!" Dean shouted, sounding more panicked than pissed.

"Snap out of it kid you'll have someone killed!"

And with these words, Dean's legs grew weak. _I did already, you don't understand_, he wanted to tell them. _You don't understand._

"Woha easy kid easy…" They said as they dragged him out, legs barely moving. He didn't struggle much as they got him out of the bar and placed him gently on the sidewalk.

"You rest here and come back inside when you've calmed down okay?" one guy said, somehow sensing the pain the young man was going through, it was melting out of him. He placed a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder but it was shoved right away.

Dean stayed there in the cold, trembling from the pain in his leg and in his heart; he held his head between his hands and shook against it all. He couldn't do this; he started rocking back and forth against the wind.

"Sammy", he said, "Sammy I can't do this!" he said more loudly this time as tears began to fall down his face.

It had started to rain, adding melancholy to his misery. People around the dark streets ran for cover while he just sat there, rocking back and forth as rain soaked his clothes. "I can't fucking do this." he whispered to himself as he clutched his arms against the cold, tears losing their tracks in the rain. Maybe if he sat there a bit longer he'd drown in this storm, he won't fight it, won't bother to swim, he'd welcome the darkness with open arms and beg it to take him to Sammy.

In a state of absolution, he titled sideways and rested his right side across the sidewalk_, this is it_ he thought,_ this was how the infamous Dean Winchester would end, drowning pathetically in a puddle of tears and rain on some sidewalk_. He was about to drift off, surrender to the numbness when he noticed it amongst the sheets of rain, the large brick wall that had signs and ads on fortune tellers, witches, and vodists, the wall that Sam loved to look through.

It seemed like a more pleasant place do perish next to, a place that held some trace of his lost brother rather than on some on foreign cold sidewalk. His body held on to that irrational excuse and found the strength to limp towards it, left leg screaming with each step but he was mute to it all. The rain increased, and his eagerness to perish increased along with it.

He reached the wall and traced the papers with trembling hands. It was a soulful, desperate gesture as if tracing the letters could connect him to his lost sibling, some of the letters melted with the rain, leaving smudges of ink on Dean's finger tips.

"Sammy" he whispered, "who should we visit first huh?" he said, choking against the tears or the rain, he didn't know which.

He walked and kept on tracing papers and he reached the end of the wall where piles of empty boxes were left. _Perfect place to drown,_ he thought to himself.

He was about to sink in that corner when he saw a paper behind the other ads, pinned right at the end of the wall to make itself invisible. It seemed to be there for ages since all the other papers were mostly in white while this one had a brown tinge to it, perhaps its color was what grabbed his attention. He was about to look away when his eyes caught a few words that almost made him falter.

He had to be sure if he read it correctly, he peeled the paper out and gasped, coughing against the rain as he saw the words more clearly now, "Time Travel Expert."

He held it between his hands and kept staring, trying to fathom the words and description:

_You made a mistake, an error, a crime?_

_A glitch that burns inside your chest?_

_Have no fear, I can bend your time,_

_Undo the past for your desperate request._

A few months ago, he would've read this and laughed, probably would've shown it to Sammy and joked about the failed poetry attempt. But now, now he clung to these words like a lifeline.

He read it a few times, wondering if it was the alcohol or maybe exhaustion that was messing with him, making him see words that weren't even there. Was this even real?! He knew that 80% of the people Sam and he visited were fake wannabes, real Supernatural dealers never exposed themselves and posted their ads like some freakin labels searching for customers.

But that's the thing, this did somehow strike him as legit. It didn't have any decoration like all the other ads did. It just had these words along with an address of a person named Marcus. Dammit, desperation was clouding his practical judgment. _I could go back! I could go back and save Sammy!_

His inner self screamed at him to go with this, it knew what Dean was planning to do if he wasn't distracted by this damn wall, Dean was on the tip of the bridge and waiting, just waiting for that slight shove that'll knock his lights out.

"I have nothing to lose right?" He said out loud as he kept staring at the paper, thumbs tracing the corners of the material while rain still poured down, making a small puddle gather in the center of the paper.

"Sam, I got nothing to lose right?" he asked again against the rain, pausing a bit like he was waiting for Sam's answer, thunder responded and that was enough to push him forward.

The whisky oozed out of his skin, his new found determination forced it out of him. The so-called expert's house was in the French corner so he'd walk there, his pained limp making his pace slower than usual but he'd crawl there if he had to. He didn't have time to lose, he was working on one battery and he was afraid that if he stopped for a break then he'd fall for good.

The rain kept falling, showering him down and rinsing his face, hands, and shoulders from all the dirt.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eventually he found the house, it was quite small and was squeezed between two other big houses. It was an old wooden construct. It's shabby, dilapidated state making it appear abandoned, and a slight feel of alarm ran through him. _What if the expert left? What if he was no longer there? What if this was some kind of joke?!_

He reached the steps and held on to the rail, his left leg barely working by now. He knocked on the door, shivering with a debilitating mixture of fatigue and anxiety as he waited.

Knock knock knock.

Nothing. He tried again, he knew it was almost 3 AM but he couldn't wait till morning, not sure if he would be able to live another day in this state.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

He was about to kick the door when he heard some movement and the light on the side window lit up.

"What the heck?!" he heard someone say.

He knocked again, "Open up please! I need your help!" not bothering with how frantic he sounded.

"You know what time it is?!" Someone said from the back as his voice grew nearer, he heard footsteps approaching and braced himself while he listened to the locks as they were being opened, way too many locks.

The door opened and an old man's face appeared, from his posture, Dean was able to tell that he was wary of visitors, especially at this dark hour.

"You Marcus?" Dean asked anxiously.

"Yes! You better be havin' a good reason why you knockin' at this time boy!"

"You posted this on the red brick wall," Dean said as he lifted the paper with a trembling hand, his body was hunched and his breathe came out in puffs of clouds, eyes weary yet burned with desperate determination.

"What…" Dean swallowed, "What do you know about time travel?"

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**Author's Note:**

**Tada! We're finally here! Gotta admit that this ****chapter was a bit too heavy, had to get all these different scenes out before I made it to the turning point. I'm so happy I finally reached what this story's all about.**

**An endless string of thanks goes to DeansBabyBird (Bev) for her unconditional support with this story, she's the best guide there is and I'm so lucky to have met her.**** Her feedback can turn plastic to freakin gold! Love ya loads Bevz!**

**To all you readers, let me know what you think so far, I'd very much appreciate your reviews :)**

**-Nada**


	4. Chapter 4

"Say again?!" Marcus yelled through the barely open door as he stared at the figure before him. The man clutched an old piece of paper which was as soaked through as he himself was, his grip on it so tight that his fingers were blanched white.

Dean took a calming breathe and tried again, " I said what do you know about time travel? You had this paper posted on that red bricked wall down at the French Corner." Dean said a bit louder this time through the rain. He lifted the paper closer to the man's face for him to read.

Dean glared at Marcus as he squinted through the paper, he could've sworn he saw a sense of alarm flit across the old man's face before it returned back to being annoyed, "Boy I don't know what ya have been drinking to believe that shit but I sure want some of it, now git the hell of my property." He said as he attempted to shut the door.

"Wait!" Dean said as he shoved his foot between the door and the frame. Marcus looked up, now looking more angered than annoyed. "Just tell me if it's true or if it's some sick joke."

"Now you listen ya gumshoe, ya come at this hour like a freak unleashed askin' me 'bout shit you see on a damn TV?! That paper ain't mine, but I can tell ya it ain't real!"

"It's got your address and your name's Marcus, don't try to blame this on some coincidence, its New Orleans we're talking about, nothing's a damn coincidence around here." Dean retorted, his voice as strong as the raging clouds above him.

_He ain't budgin'_, the old man thought, "Alright alright I had it posted. There ya happy now? Was an old joke back in the days when people believed in this kinda crap, forgot I even had it there. I would'a torn it down if I knew I'd have people knockin' at my door at 3 AM because of it."

"Just tell me the truth." Dean said tiredly, "tell me if it's possible." _Please, it's all I got left_, he thought.

"Hate to break it to ya but this whole thing ain't real, I needed the cash, ya don't how much money desperate people are willing to spend to undo shit. I tell ya this though, whatever crap you had in the past, you just gotta deal with it in the now." He said as he pointed down with his index through the slightly open door, indicating a present moment.

Dean's gaze shifted from Marcus's pointing finger, then to the floor, trying to figure out what to do with this revelation, where to go from here, what does this mean for him? What door is there left to knock on?

He slowly raised his head back up and gazed at the old man who he had hoped to be his savior, his redemption, his bridge to bring Sammy back. "You don't fuck with people like that, bring their hopes up only to crush them even more." Dean said as he threw the paper at the man's direction. "You… I… I thought I could go back, really thought I could." He said as tears began to well in his eyes as if imitating the rain that fell around him.

"Sorry kid." Marcus said, suddenly feeling sympathetic for this man.

"No, I shoulda known better, I don't usually fall for this shit. I'm sorry I knocked at this hour." He slowly lifted his hands from the doorframe.

"You go someplace warm yeah? Storm might get worse." Marcus said with sympathetic eyes, "Goodbye now." He said before he hesitantly closed the door.

Dean gazed at the closed door, a small laugh bubbling from his lips at the situation, at how he had let himself to believe this bullshit, Sam would've laughed his ass off at this one.

He slowly turned around and gazed at the black raining void ahead of him, it was suffocating. With no hope left to cling on to, the adrenaline evaporated from his system as if sensing that it wasn't needed anymore. It left him stranded and hollow and the pain in his leg returned like an old friend.

_I gave it a shot_ Dean thought to himself as he gazed at the sky, droplets piercing his eyes but he didn't give a damn. _Pierce my heart why don't you_? _Pierce my fucking heart!_ he yelled within the barriers of himself.

His body was shutting down, he had no energy left, no shelter from the rain, no food in his system, no tending to his injury, no restful sleep, and no Sam.

He was about to take the first step down the porch when his left leg gave out, collapsing under him, tumbling him to the hard, wet ground. The darkness took him, his last conscious thought as he passed out being one of overwhelming helplessness.

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_I thought I asked that damn paper boy to remove all those posters!_ Marcus thought to himself as he walked down the hallway, trundling his IV stand along with him back to his room.

The last time someone came to him asking about time travel had been 7 years ago. It was a man named Will, wanted to go back in time to save his buddy at work who he had killed by mistake in a construction accident, but Marcus had no choice but to reject the request, was trying to save him by doing so. Unfortunately, his guilt-ridden man didn't see eye to eye on this one and ended up throwing himself off a bridge a few days after the encounter.

Marcus beat himself up after that, he knew that he was the reason behind Will's suicidal death. He loaded his brains with booze, rum, whiskey, vodka, you name it. But he also knew one thing: what's in the past should stay in the past. He had to learn this fact the hard way. One present death was worth the incurring wrath of an altered past. He had been doing this Will guy a favor, not that Will could understand, of course, but either way, the damn the guilt hurt like a son of a bitch.

_He'll thank me later, he'll understand,_ Marcus thought of the compelling stranger who had roused him so abruptly to wakefulness, not sure if he was comforting himself, hoping that it wouldn't be a repetition of what happened with Will. _What's in the past should stay in the past_ he repeated to himself like a mantra.

He placed his IV stand right next to his bedside, tugged the tubing with one hand so he wouldn't tangle in them as he climbed into the worn out covers. Just as he was about to slip in, he heard a loud thump from outside. He was about to ignore it but it was too close to his door. _Perhaps it was the man needing some shelter? or maybe it was the neighbor's dog?_ He questioned himself. Whatever it is, it bothered him and he wasn't going to sleep easy without making sure of the source.

_Curiosity killed the damn cat_ _Marcus James_ he said to himself as he marched out the hallway once again.

He reached the door, IV stand in front of him like he was using it as a weapon. He opened the door slowly and gazed ahead, barely saw a thing from the haze of rain, "Kid? Kid you out there?" he yelled, but the only sound that replied to him was thunder. _Must be the damn dogs then_, he thought to himself, he made a mental note to give that neighbor a beat down on this noisy beast he called a pet. He was about to close the door when lightning flashed, giving him a glimpse of the hunched figure on the ground.

"Kid?" The old man said but he got no reply. Dammit, unplugged the IV from the permanent injection in his hand and left the stand inside, grabbed a jacket and sheltered his head with it as he walked through the rain towards the crumbled form. "Kid ya with me?" he said as he crouched down. He shook the stranger's shoulders but to no avail. Lightning bolted once again on cue to show the paleness of the kid's face. "Shit!" he said out loud as he took off his jacket and covered the stranger's trembling body with it.

"My God did ya walk all the way down here?! You as pale as a damn cloud!" He smacked his cheeks a couple of times and Dean stuttered, his lashes fluttered weakly, lips mumbled through barely open eyes.

"There ya go, that's its, come out of it kid come out of it." He encouraged.

"L…eave me… h… here."

"You kidding me?! Son you'd die in this weather!" He said while trying to lift Dean's torso from the merciless ground.

"Th… That's the… p…point" Dean said through chattered teeth.

"Well then let's look at it from my point okay?" He said, suddenly determined to drag the man inside. "Can you make it up?" Marcus asked but got no reply, "yeah, wasn't expecting it anyways." He placed his shoulders around Dean's chest while being careful not to rattle his IV injection, and with all the strength he had saved through the years, he dragged Dean towards the house.

"I'm too old for this shit!" Marcus said between grunts, the barely-conscious stranger was reduced to a combination of uncoordinated, shivering limbs. Once he dragged him completely in, he landed tiredly on his behind and shoved the door with his leg to keep the cold from seeping in.

Marcus watched breathlessly as Dean started to shiver more against the warmth that attacked his freezing body. He curled to his side and tried to grab at his left leg unconsciously, which hinted to Marcus that this was the man's source of pain. He lifted the hem of Dean's jeans to inspect it and had to gasp at what he saw.

"Shit boy you been walking on this piece of crap you call a leg?!" The skin was a mixture of blue, yellow, red, green, heck, it even had some damn purple! Nothing appeared broken but it still seemed like a nasty injury that hadn't been tended to. "What kinda riot did ya get yerself into kid?" Marcus said as gazed at Dean's pale face.

Marcus brought his nursing hands towards the welt, just as his fingers made contact with skin, the man's back arched in pain.

"Don't!" Dean cried out between pants.

"I'm sorry kid I'm sorry," he said. "I ain't touchin' it alright? Let's just get ya warm and comfortable first waddaya say?"

He got back to his feet, the feeding tube in his stomach ached with the exertion but he had to forget about that for now, he had to fix this, he owed Will this much. He continued to drag the barely conscious man towards his room which was luckily right around the corner. With much grumbles, groans, curses, and some support from Dean, he was able to have him placed on the bed. Dean was becoming restless at this point, "S..Stop!" Dean weakly retorted as Marcus returned his attention to the leg.

"Shhh take it easy boy, just relax and close yer eyes while I take care of this", Marcus comforted as he continued his tending. He was determined to save him, he won't shoo him off like how he did Will, he learned once, and he wasn't about to make the same mistake twice, "I ain't holding another coffin on my conscious ya hear?" he said out loud.

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Warm, dizzy, and confused in one bundle, that's how Dean felt when he slowly began to open his heavy-lidded eyes. He licked his chapped lips and swallowed dryly, then sluggishly turned his head to the side trying to grasp his surroundings. There on the right, was some old man reading through a book, "B... Bobby?" He croaked.

The man removed his glasses and approached him, his eyes gradually focused on the man's features, _Okay so it's not Bobby_ Dean thought to himself.

"Hey there kid, hate to break it to ya but I ain't Bobby," he said as he approached Dean with a glass of water along with some pain pills.

"Marcus?" Dean whispered hoarsely. Marcus nodded as he handed Dean the glass. He lifted himself a bit to drink down the drug, the water soothed his deserted throat like a river, "What happened?" he asked, grateful that his voice returned to normal.

"Was gonna ask you the same question, what's yer name kid?" Marcus answered his question with a question.

It was the first time that Dean got the chance to really look at Marcus, he seemed to be around 50, which made him feel guilty for having the old man drag his limp body all the way over to the bed. His hair was thrown in every wrong direction, a mixture of grey and white, some dark strands still grew here and there as if rioting against old age. His wrinkles mapped whatever hardship he went through like an Atlas, his lips were thin like they had shriveled along the years, and his eyes, his eyes were as deep as the ocean.

As Dean's eyes gained more clarity, he noticed the other layer of Marcus which he missed out earlier, he saw the pain, noticed the yellow hue to his skin, the dark circles under his eyes, the slight tremble following him around like a ghost. As if he thought the old man couldn't look any sicker, he spotted an IV tube dangling from his right arm which extended from some IV stand, and a feeding tube which crawled like a snake from a lousy brown shirt he was wearing. He felt so sorry.

"Name's Dean", he said when his eyes landed on Marcus's.

"Well then Dean, you almost passed out that's what happened, on my porch, at 3 AM in the damn morning. Leg had the color of a damn rainbow. I spread some ointment around that welt and bandaged it up good while your lights were out." He said with no hint of searching for appreciation.

Dean gave him a faltering smile, "Thank you... How long was I out?"

"I'd say about 2 hours, but heck you sure do a lotta sleep talkin'."

Panic flashed on Dean's face, "What… What did you hear?"

"Heard enough, you have issues with mud I can tell ya that. And let me take a wild guess here, but ya wanna go back in time to save this man called Sam, or Sammy, not sure which one ya go by, ya kept sayin' both names. Am I right?"

Dean gulped when the man said his brother's name, suddenly worried at what else he might've let slip while stuck in some feverish dream. He was about to prepare for a cover-up, an act, a lie, but damn he was too tired to figure out which mask to wear, which tall tale to use, his M.O. was in ruins. He was an open book and he couldn't gather the strength to close the damn cover.

_Screw it._

"Yeah" he looked away when he answered, "No thanks to you." He said as his face hardened. He tried to straighten against the headboard and grimaced when his leg protested against the movement. "And that man, he was my brother." He clarified.

"So how did it happen?" He wanted to keep Dean talking, to keep him awake. The boy's nightmares seemed to have been hurting him more than that injured leg. " Was it a car accident? Did he get shot? Fell off some cliff? Construction site accident?" Marcus asked, the last guess tasted bitter on his lips.

"I killed him, failed to protect him."

"Killed him is one thing, failed to protect is another thing, ya do know that don't you?"

"Different mechanisms, same result." Dean said as he glared at Marcus, he wasn't fishing for counseling.

"Just sayin'" Marcus said as he lifted his arm in defense. "Ya gotta know one thing boy, happenings, no matter how nasty, no matter how hollow they leave ya, they always happen for a reason. That's life for ya."

Dean turned his head back straight, "Okay Oprah" . He cursed himself when his stomach let out a grumble against the hunger.

The man smiled at that, "I see that stomach doing the talkin' for ya. I tell ya what, how 'bout I bring ya something to eat eh? Word has it that I make the best chowder in this Jazzed up town."

"Sure," Dean said, not that he really cared. He wanted Marcus out, he already knew too much from his slip-ups, not to mention that he hated this so called Dr. Phil session.

"You stay awake till I get the chowder ready, don't be movin' that leg." He grunted as he lifted himself off the chair, resting too much of his weight on the IV cart, the surprising turn of events left him drained.

By the time the sounds of Marcus's steps and the cart wheels faded, Dean removed the covers to check on his leg. Marcus had done well playing nurse, bandages wrapped tightly as if to shield out the pain, and the minty smell of ointment calmed the ache that stalked him like a menace.

His eyes were unexpectedly captured by the wall on his left, it was covered with a generous amount of photos of different sizes, some were framed while others were held with pins. He was so intrigued by the collage he had to get up and take a closer look.

He took a deep breathe, swayed his right leg to the edge of the bed and dragged his left leg along with both hands. He then hopped on his good limb and reached his target which was thankfully less than 3 feet away, he placed both hands on each side of the wall to keep himself balanced.

_Huh_ Dean thought to himself, there were black and white photos, sepia-hued photos , instant camera photos, Polaroid, even portrait paintings, as if each one was taken from a certain era. Dean took a closer look into each of the photos and noticed that there was one man repeated in each picture, was Marcus for sure, his hair was thrown in every direction as if he never touched a comb in his life.

Dean titled his head sideways as he spotted another finding, maybe the pain meds were making him see double, but throughout the photos, Marcus was blessed with the same age, probably late forties. He wore the same clothes even when the rest of the people around him changed fashion throughout the years. Heck, it was the same brown shirt he saw him wearing today, he was sure of it!

_Odd much? _He thought to himself.

He looked into each picture again and studies Marcus's face, his smile was vibrant in some pictures, but were pained in others, almost seemed like a grimace in those of the latest. In some instances, he was standing as tall as a soldier, but in others, he was hunched and weary like some disregarded man who accidentally got in the picture.

"I see you been movin' around" Marcus said, slightly anxious of what Dean was looking at. He balanced the chowder with one hand as he leaned on the IV stand with the other

"I was gonna say the same thing 'bout you." Dean shot back as he pointed at the scattered pictures. "You've been in every damn decade, and maybe it's the drugs playing with my mind, but you don't seem to be agin' in any of 'em"

"Think I gave ya too much ibuprofen."

"Bullshit."

"Watch your mouth boy."

But Dean ignored it, "Thought you said time travel wasn't real, this is a far cry for realism if you ask me Marcus." Dean said, wincing as his accidentally put too much weight on his left leg.

"Will you just sit down?" Marcus said as he pointed at his injured leg.

"Not until you explain this." Dean said as he pointed at three different pictures, each of a different era, each with Marcus looking exactly the same.

"Okay okay, I'll explain dammit."

"Oh God." Dean whispered, "So it's real? You time travelled didn't you?" Dean said as he took a few steps towards Marcus and almost falling in the process.

"Hold your horses boy! And sit down before ya fall down."

Dean sat on the chair near the wall, not because of his leg, he didn't give a crap about his leg. The overwhelming revelation that time travel could be real was just too heavy on him to walk with. He didn't even look at the chowder Marcus placed next to him, his stomach will have to wait, heck he'd been waiting for 2 damn months!

_Dammit,_ Marcus thought. He swore that he would never speak of this gift, this curse he had inherited. It wasn't something he was proud to know of, definitely not to share. But then he looked at Dean, this broken man who he couldn't help but to care for. His green eyes that spoke to him before his mouth did, asked him, begged him for a rope, a glimpse of hope, a way to bring back his brother. How could he turn him down when he had the key? _How can I? _He asked himself.

"Back when I just turned 20." Marcus began, "My grandma, a strong woman who found her way amongst the witches of Louisiana, passed on an enchantment to each of her grandchildren as a keepsake. Me, considerin' myself the black sheep of the family, was granted with the time travel enchantment. 'See the world Marcus James' she'd tell me as she laid frail in her dying bed. That's the thing, it was only to _see." _Marcus said, giving more emphasis on the word _see._ "To learn, to explore, not to manipulate, not to change, not to undo. But we humans, you and me, we're never satisfied with observation aren't we?" He asked as he looked at Dean who broke the gaze at the heavy supposition.

"Ya know, truthfully, I never got it at first; I wasn't a believer of magic, surely not a believer of time travel. I'd make fun of my grandma and her witch friends as they discussed magic with tea cups and biscuits in their ancient hands, was ridiculous." Till now, some of it seemed so far-fetched for him to fathom. He had blind faith in math and laws of physics after working as a mechanic at his father's pocket watch company for as long as he could remember, the ticks and tocks were as true as the beats of his hearts, irreversible and always moving. Moving forward.

"I tucked the enchantment in one of grandma's handkerchiefs and placed it in some closet, more as a keepsake of her memory rather than of belief to tell ya the truth."

Dean noticed that whatever was coming next wasn't easy on Marcus, the old man's face turned distressed and his lips almost pouted as he spoke, "It wasn't until my Vanessa, my dear wife died of a car accident 6 years later." He remembered the black hole that filled his heart back then, it remained to ache, to suck him dry till this very day.

"I was desperate, probably as desperate as you are right now." He said as he pointed at Dean. "At one time during one of my many drunken hours, I drank so much booze that it trickled outta ma mouth, and I wondered to myself, if I could just be able to go back in time and throttle that drunken driver that crashed into Nessa's car, leaving her to shatter like the glass around her, if I could just end his life before he ended hers, if I could just forget about the ticks and tocks I strongly believed in." He said as he pulled out his pocket watch and shook in front of Dean, "If, for once, could change them, reverse them so they'd be tocks and ticks instead, just so I can go back be with her again."

He swallowed a lump and bent his face down, Dean didn't know whether to walk to Marcus comfort him or just sit there and listen. As if time stood still, Dean waited for the old man to grasp back his composure, he would've wait all his life if he had to.

"It worked," Marcus muffled with his face bent down low, the gasp Dean let out snapped him out of his ancient memory.

"Once sober, I remembered that long abandoned enchantment. I was laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, it wasn't math, it wasn't physics, it was a tock without a tick, but it was all I had left, and I was willing to hold on to it with every tooth and nail."

Marcus's grimace lessened as he recalled the renovated memory, "First thing I did was that I kissed her, I kissed so long until I wanted her to live inside my heart right there," he said as he patted his heart. "But I couldn't stop there, I skimmed through the police records and found out the name of the drunk bastard that took her away, went to his house, I was so mad Dean, I was blinded by this rage that enslaved me for all these months. I shot him and sneered while doing it, didn't even hesitate or flinch. Was killing a life to save my wife, that's fair ain't it? Was releasing the world from a bad man before he ripped an innocent."

Dean didn't say anything, afraid that whatever he might say might halt Marcus from continuing with his reminiscences.

Marcus went quite for a bit before he continued, "Ever heard of a ripple effect Dean?"

"A little, what's it got to do with what happened to you?"

"It's got everything to do with me. See here's the conundrum about time travel," he said as he bent down to get closer to Dean, "You change one thing thinking that you'll back in the present in a better state, that you'll never attempt to fly back again, like you won't miss it as if it's some damn drug."

"I came back to find my father's business gone to ruins. The son of the drunk spotted me when I shot his dad at point blank, raised hellfire against me, and my dad, good old dad, used all the savings of his barely surviving pocket watch company to save my ass outta jail. His company died, and he died soon after from a heart attack, they said it was the stress." He chuckled to himself

"So you went back again?"

"A'course I had to go back again!" Marcus retorted in defense, "Had to fix things, how could I have lived knowing that I was the reason behind my father's distress and death? Had to make things right, save him and save his darlin' company. But things kept getting worse and worse, I'd fix one thing to damage another, I'd save someone to lose some else. And to add more insult to the injury, my body broke down with the abuse."

Dean seemed confused at the new revelation, "What do you mean broke down?"

"See, time travel is like a drug, like freakin meth. The more you use it, the more it kills you. It sucks out the life of ya like a damn leech. You're breaking the law of physics, you gotta expect some backlashes on the way."

"So that's why you got these tubes and all?" Dean asked as he pointed at both the IV and the feeding tube.

"That's what ya only see boy, my body's all broken inside. Flat-lined twice, that wasn't fun I'll tell ya that."

Dean nodded in sympathy as he tried to comprehend it all. Then he noticed the wall, "Well then what of the pictures? You seemed pretty happy then."

"Ah, thought you'd never ask. You're bringing the worse of me there. Back when I lost all hope of savin' my family, when I had nothing to lose and the state of Louisiana went through depression, I had no money to support myself, no home, no purpose, no conscious, I had nada! I was drunk and careless most of the time and I needed anything to get me going, all I had in my sack was the last pocket watch from my dad's fallen company, and the damn enchantment. So I did the unthinkable and advertised the ability, took pictures of myself in different eras to give proof to people that it was possible, nearly killed myself in the process. I ended up making my own miniature time travel business down at the harbor." He explained in shame while looking at the brass pocket watch in his hand. "Ironic eh? All my life I worked with clocks, now I made money by rioting against them." He said as he rubbed the watch's glass with his thumb.

"You'll be surprised at how many people believed me, how much they paid just to go back and undo shit. I did it for 1 month and it felt like shit, like I was some murderer, like a damn drug dealer. It all stopped when this client named Joanna came carrying her dead son, 'LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!' she yelled at me" He said as he lifted his hands upfront to imitate how the woman carried her son. "It clicked through my thick scull then. Dunno how many lives were lost or tormented because of that irrational decision I made. I had a paperboy run down all of New Orleans to tear down my ads, never spoke of it ever since. And you, out of all people, got to see that one add that the damn paper boy forgot to remove."

And Dean felt grateful for that. To be honest, he seemed careless about what Marcus had to say ever since he spoke the words, "It worked."

_It fucking works! _

He was a hunter, he'll know how to take care of it, he'll know his limits, he won't let it get to him. He'll get things done, surely won't go back for some damn fallen pocket watch business, he'll just save Sam and be done with it. _That's all I'm asking for, nothing else matters._

"So it works." Dean said with a smile, the first genuine smile he ever felt to cross his face.

"Yes Dean, but did ya hear the rest of what I said? It works, but makes things a whole lot worse!"

"It can't be worse than this Marcus." He said staring down at his hands.

"No Dean, look at me!" he said, "LOOK AT ME!" and Dean's head snapped up. "See those tubes Dean? Huh? Do you see my wife anywhere Dean? Wonder why's that? It's a fucking mirage Dean. It kills you, eats you from the inside out without you even knowing. You touch it and you'll want more of it, only to find out later that you're body's crumbling before your eyes!"

"I don't give a shit about my life at the moment if you ask me, I appreciate you wanting the best for me, I really do, but please, give me the enchantment Marcus. I can take care of myself."

"That's what I said when I tried it out, bang up job I did with that." He said as he sarcastically showed himself off with both hands, "Please Dean, don't be another lost soul I'd have to carry the guilt for."

"I won't let it get to me, I'll do this once just to save my brother. I'll come back here to prove it to you." Dean said, heart fluttering at the thought that he might bring Sammy along to meet their savior.

Marcus saw in his eyes the same look that Will had when he begged him for the time travel enchantment, the desperation, the sorrow, the willingness to take his life away if provided with no other alternative. Dammit he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Mar…"

"Shut up and follow me." Marcus said as he led him the library across the hall, he held on to his IV stand, strolling it a bit more viciously to echo his frustration.

"Right behind you." He limped, the pain in his leg nothing but a memory. _Oh God, Sammy, Sammy I might fix this_ Dean thought to himself as he walked a bit too close to the old man's back, too eager to reach their destination.

The library seemed like that of a hobbit's, Dean had to bend down so his head wouldn't hit against roof. It smelled of paper, trees, and leather, _the smell of knowledge_ Dean thought to himself as if to mimic Sam. There were so many books, manuals, guides, some stored in wooden shelves, while other stacked up in piles that almost reached the ceiling, all seemed to revolve around clocks, _funny._

Marcus skimmed through one of the shelves and found the book he was looking for. It was big and heavy he had to grunt while pulling it out of its hiding place, the cover was of thick leather and pages were yellow and crippled. He dusted it off, a sign that it hadn't been touched in years, flipped through the delicate pages until he reached a piece of cloth which tucked itself against pages, Dean assumed it was the grandmother's handkerchief and his heart beat faster in anticipation. Marcus placed the book down and slowly unraveled the frail piece fabric which sheltered a brown script, he noticed some cursive writings but couldn't see the words through the dim light.

Marcus was pissed, Dean could tell by the puffs he made and the frown that decided to stick on his face ever since they came to this room. He was hating himself for opening up to him and Dean knew it. But this was all background noise, _he'll get over it_. All he cared about was seeing Sam again, seeing him alive, sitting on the right side of his car, saving people, hunting things, the family's goddam business.

"Dean ya with me?"

Dean cursed himself for being lost within thoughts that seemed so fathomable for once. "Yeah, sorry, just can't believe this is actually possible."

"It is Dean, but it's a dangerous gig, you'll hurt yourself or someone around you. I'm giving ya a way out."

"My way out's gonna take me to some bridge Marcus, and I'd be driving it vertical if I need to be more specific. So you tell me how to do this." Dean said blankly. Marcus wondered how someone could sound so determined yet desperate within the same line.

"Okay, just, just sit down on this stool over there, ya keep forgetting your leg's hurt and it'll keep remindin' ya."

Dean took a seat, anything to keep the old man going, "There, now tell me," Dean said sternly, "please" he added to sound civil.

Marcus shook his head from side to side, detesting himself for the secret he was about to expose. He took a deep breath and began, "Here's what you gotta know, and you listen to me well kid."

Dean didn't need to be told twice, he was all ears.

"Now, first thing ya gotta keep in mind is this, ya can only change one thing in one day. " he said as he lifted his index finger to emphasize the number one. "You can't go ping pong'n and travel back and forth on that same day to fix things in a different fashion. Ya go once and ya make it count. Go back there again and you're as good as dead meat ya got that?"

"Got that." Dean said, he was writing everything down in his head like a hungry scholar.

"Ya only got a limited time on that day ya choose to travel to, once ya make a change, your ass will be dragged back up here to the present. Simple as that, no need to wait on a bus stop that'll take ya home."

"Okay, how can I go to that date?"

"Wait for it. Now I said this before, and I'mma say it again. Time travel is a slow killer, it'll damage ya if ya don't be careful. You'll hurt, you'll ache, you'll bleed, heck you'll probably scream at times. So ya better make things right from the first time. So don't go all macho and and travel a couple o' times in one go. You ain't made of metal, ya need to give your body a while to heal before ya decide to fly again. Breakin' of physics will try to break you back ya understand? I'd give it a month, and that's me being nice.

"Okay, anything else on that?"

"Ice cubes."

"Ice cubes?"

"Damn straight. When ya decide to time travel, your ass needs to be in a bucket of ice cubes, now's the time to ask me why."

"Why?" Dean asked right away.

"The force of time travel induces so much heat on your present body, the alternation of physics, the bending of seconds, the twists and shifts; it forces it into a state of hyperthermia that would leave you as good as fried bacon."

"So the ice cubes block this side effect?"

"Now you catchin' on. Listen, don't you dare…" he paused to indicate the importance of the instruction, "Don't ya dare ever, in your wildest state, decide to time travel without being in that bucket of ice ya understand? You find none then you wait till you find some. That simple, but that damn important." He chuckeled at inside joke between him and himself, "Remember when I told ya I flat-lined twice?" Marcus asked.

"Yeah."

"Well one of those times was because I recklessly decided to fly my ass with no damn ice cubes, I had a fever so high I thought I'd melt to the floor."

"Okay, okay I'll be careful."

Marcus went quite for bit, as if he mentally went through all the rules to make sure that he said it all, once he did, he continued hesitantly, "So… here's the enchantment,"

"Thought you'd never get there." Dean said as he raised his hand to grab the fragile paper.

"It's in Latin. Witches loved to speak in that tongue, made them feel historic my grandma used to say."

Dean didn't hear that part, his fingers were busy tracing the enchantment's wordings, they looked so ancient, so powerful, so… timeless. "How does it work?" Dean asked, still gazing at the wordings in awe. _Sammy_

"Simple, you read it through while thinking of the date you wanna travel to. Then it'll do all the work for ya."

"That's it?" Dean asked as he lifted his head to stare at Marcus, "That's all I gotta do? No need to write the day in blood? No sacrifice? No salt, fire, some stink'n potion? Just this paper and some ice cubes? Sounds too simple if ya ask me."

"That's what I thought, but look what "simple" did to me." He said as pointed to his fatigued body. "You be careful Dean, you do it once and you come look for me okay? Or else I'll never forgive you boy, sure as heck won't forgive myself." He said as bent his head down.

"I promise I'll be back Marcus. Thank you, I… I gotta get to it." Dean said, didn't want to waste a minute. As much as he wanted to stay with the old man, assure him that he'll have it all under control, but he had bigger plans, Sam was waiting for him, was out there in the muddy woods, about to get stabbed, and for the first time in a long time, Dean finally found the power to stop it.

Dean stood up, hugged Marcus to show his gratitude, "Sorry I kept ya through the night. You take care of yourself." he said as he pointed at the IV stand.

"Sure, just don't come back to me carrying one of those stands yerself."

Dean smiled lightly as he turned around and walked towards the door, he gave Marcus one final look, they both stared at each other for a few seconds and Dean broke it with a nod. None said a word, but their voices seemed to echo throughout the universe.

Once outside, the scene ahead of him wasn't as dark or suffocating as before. The rain had shrunk to a mere drizzle, dawn was lazily approaching the edges of the sky. It all seemed beautiful all of a sudden, there was hope.

He walked slowly down the steps at first, then jogged a bit, then with a few priming breathes, he shifted into a hunter's run, heading towards the motel like his life depended on it. His limping leg ached but the adrenaline was back in motion, working overtime to get on with this escapade. The enchantment safe in his jacket's inside pocket, teasing him with its power.

He reached the red bricked panting. He spotted Mardi's office, she wasn't at work yet. He smiled to himself, "Hey Mardi, you might just get yer Sammy back." He said to no one.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Trying to balance two buckets of ice he grabbed from the ice machine down the hall with one hand, he unlocked the room's door with his other hand. Once he had the door open, he placed the buckets on the floor. He removed his drenched boots, carefully brought the enchantment from his pocket before releasing his jacket, he was moving with wild energy.

He lifted the ice buckets to the bathroom, he thought the tub would be the most convenient place. _Oh Sammy if you only what I'm doing to get you back here_ he chuckled nervously as he poured both buckets of ice into the tub, the loud sounds omitted as each cube hit the marbled cask strengthened his resolve . He then filled the tub with water so it wouldn't be as harsh to sit on, each cube floated like an amateur iceberg.

He went back to the room, thought of calling Bobby to tell him of what he was about to do but he thought against it . The old man would've surely apposed this senseless stunt, he would've probably come all the way to New Orleans to tear the enchantment to bits. He wasn't risking any disruptions. Putting that thought aside, he grabbed the paper with gentle hands and went back to the bathroom. He placed it on the sink's edge as he removed his pants and shirt till he was left with nothing but his boxers. His heart was hammering in his chest like an untamed horse.

He lifted his injured leg first towards the iced tub , "Oh shit this is cold" he said out loud, he then placed his other leg "Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit" he kept on saying. He slowly went down till his thighs, stomach and chest were under the freezing water, "Sssson…o o o of… a a… bbbb ..bbbitch!" Dean said through chattering teeth, it felt like he just took a dump into some ice fishing hole.

"This b…better work M…Marcus!" Dean whispered between freezing breathes. He grabbed the paper with his dry yet shaking hands.

_This is it._

He took a calming breathe, ignored the chatters that rattled his teeth, and slowly thought of the day he wanted to return to, to the woods, to the damn mud that mocked his boots. He remembered the day as if it was carved on his heart with a poker, May 07, 2007, he remembered the damn hour, the exact minute if they asked him. He kept that date held in his mind as he began to read through the enchantment:

"Veniet, veniet tempus

Tempus capiet, quod seminatum est tempus,

Tollite me, et aedificabo mihi

Seram iterum hanc maledictam centunculus" he whispered.

Nothing.

With his eyes still closed, he repeated the enchantment a second time, date still fixed in mind.

_Come on Come on Come on…_

"What the heck Marcus?" Dean said with frustration as he tried once again, almost memorizing the enchantment in the process, Latin was more of a second language.

He repeated the enchantment for the fourth time but to no avail, he opened his eyes, finding himself still in that tub, pathetically shivering under a tub of ice. He started to wonder if this was indeed some sick joke.

_This is ridiculous,_ he thought to himself. He was about to get himself out of the cold tub which was now aching his bones, after all of the hardships he went through, he wasn't going to die pitifully from hypothermia in some damn red bricked motel tub!

_One more time Dean? Just one more time_, the hopeful part of him spoke.

"Dammit" he said out loud as his desperation won. With hands gripping the edges of the tub to not sink in. Not bothering with the grabbing paper, the enchantment already remembered by heart. This is it.

"Veniet, veniet tempus," he said with a calming breath, he was almost able hear his echo against the tiles.

"Tempus capiet, quod seminatum est tempus," he went on, hands unconsciously falling into the tub.

"Tollte me… et aedificabo mihi," his tongue suddenly went heavy and his body felt like lead, but he continued…

"Seram… iterum hanc maledictam centunculus…" he barely whispered.

…

Heat.

It started with a tingly feeling that branched from his fingertips, then it marched across his body with graduating heat, so much heat he felt like he was surrounded by coals rather than of ice. Like the sun had folded itself around him. His breath felt like fire against his confused lungs.

Noise.

It began with distant ringing that slowly turned to white noise so loud and deafening it seemed like he was inside a tidal wave, it was suffocating him, drowning him, swooshing and tossing him violently into some dark void where there was no beginning or end.

Pain.

God it hurt, his legs felt stretched, his arms seemed tangled, and his head, his head felt like it was about to explode to a million little pieces. His insides twisted and moved as if his liver and kidney decide to change places against his consent.

Just when he thought he was about to break from it all, a popping sound erupted, like when your ears open up after being so up in the air. His senses slowly came back to him; the pain ebbed away like a dying fire. He opened his burning eyes but all he saw was a blur.

The first thing he recognized was the smell of mud.

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**There ya have it! Chapter 4! This was a chapter that the whole story will be built upon, that's why it's more comprehensive and explanatory rather than filled with action, saved that all for the coming chapters *evil grin***

**Thanks again to DeansbabyBird (Bev) for the beta! You're awesome!  
**

**Your reviews fuel my muse :)**


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